


Cat Scratch Fever

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Meowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fancy meeting you here, cowboy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Scratch Fever

“Till we meet again...John.”

Snake doesn’t quite realize how much he’s been clinging to that childish promise in the following empty weeks, like a shred of flotsam keeping him from drowning in the endless waves of grief and betrayal. Doesn’t realize until he meets the kid again, in a shithole Lithuanian bar while on a mission. 

He doesn’t see him at first, his back to the rest of the smoky room, cradling his lukewarm beer at the very end of the bar. 

But he hears him, the soft chime awakening something steely in his tired brain. And really, who the hell wears spurs in this day and age?

Ocelot sits silently on the stool next to him. Neither looks at each other, but Snake is painfully aware of his spicy cologne, so different from the dusty, sour smell of the bar. 

He orders Bobeline on the rocks. A kid’s drink, sweet and tart. The liquor in the glass is as crimson as the gloves holding it. 

“Fancy meeting you here, cowboy,” he says quietly in Russian. 

“Fancy meeting _you_ here, stranger,” says Ocelot in English. It’s very good English, with just the slightest lilt that betrays a language learned entirely from movies. “What’s a living legend doing around these parts?”

Snake bites down on his cigar. He knows. 

Well, of course he does. He’s been thinking about him enough to have realized who - what Ocelot is. Even he isn’t so dense not to realize Ocelot told him as much as he could when he told him his name. 

He probably knew he was here. It was probably his mission to know. It’s more than likely his mission to make sure he doesn’t make it back to the West. 

Snake doesn’t really care. 

“I’m no legend,” he grunts, downing half of his beer. 

Ocelot snorts into his glass. “Legends are weird like that, huh.”

“Hmm.”

They drink in silence for a while, drowned by the buzz of the patrons and the music from the old jukebox, a relic from the war. 

“Are you on a mission?”

Snake shrugs. He is, obviously. Something trivial. Infiltrating some place. Stealing some documents. Whatever.

“Me too,” says Adam, finishing his drink. Ice clinks in the empty glass. “But I have some time.”

The invitation is as clear and obvious as it could be, enough even for him. It makes something warm and sticky coil in his gut - something he thought he didn’t quite have anymore, squashed by war and grief, smothered to death by waking up six months ago on a bearskin with a hellish hangover and blue balls. But it’s very much there now, hungry and heavy. 

“I got time, too,” he says, finally trailing his eye up to Ocelot’s face. 

He hasn’t changed much. Filled up a little in the cheeks, maybe. They are probably feeding him better than the weak shit they had in Groznyj Grad. His cheekbones are still so sharp they could cut diamonds, the ridiculously long pale lashes still making his eyes look like that of an actual cat. 

He’s pretty. 

The warm snake coils into his gut again, twitching with want he has been trained all his life to ignore. 

He drops off the stool, followed by Ocelot. He presses crumpled notes on the sticky bar, and follows him as inconspicuously as possible. 

One of them is probably going to be dead by the time the sun comes up. But until then, Snake is going to make the best of it. 

***

Snake has been squatting in an abandoned farm for the past two days since he’s dragged himself out of the North Sea on the Lithuanian shore; sleeping on soggy hay and eating rabbits so starved they barely have meat on them. 

Ocelot, on the other hand, has an actual room, in a hotel. It’s not luxury, but it has a bed, electricity, carpeting, and running water.

He should have been a spy instead of a soldier, considers Snake. Seems a lot more comfortable. 

He doesn’t have much time to consider work options, though, because suddenly Ocelot is pressing him against the heavy oak door, his lithe body hot and needy. 

He presses full lips to the heartbeat in his throat, trailing soft, breathy kisses up along his jaw. Snake grabs the back of his head and kisses him, rough and inelegant. 

Ocelot whines into his mouth, arching against him, rubbing all over him like a cat begging for scraps. 

Snake hooks his fingers into Ocelot’s scarf, pulls it off and attacks his milky, pale neck. Ocelot’s cologne is almost suffocating here, but his skin tastes like something else, almost sweet. 

A shaky moan escapes Ocelot’s lips. “John....”

The snake in his gut flares up, white hot now, at hearing his name. He has not forgotten. He has kept his promise. 

“Adam,” he grows into his throat. He doesn’t use the name he gave him. He can feel Ocelot’s heart rate go up under his lips.

Good. Now they’re both on the same page as to what they know of each other. 

Gloved fingers card through his hair, pulling gently. Ocelot grinds against his thigh, his erection heavy and warm even through the clothes. 

Snake wants that in his mouth _right now_. 

He pushes off the door, and Ocelot comes willingly, almost weightless, falling back when his knees hit the bed. 

Propped on his elbows, he watches Snake unbutton his pants, eyes and mouth wide open in awe. With a grin, Snake crouches between his knees, sliding the pants of his thighs - so white - pulling his boots off with a chime of spurs. 

“John,” whines Ocelot, pawing at his hair, his cock strained and leaking over his white shirt.

“Patience, kitten.” He brushes his lips along the inside of his thigh, poking the tip of his tongue to trace the trembling long muscles up to where Ocelot desperately wants him. 

When he finally mouths his way around his shaft, Ocelot _meows_. 

It’s not a moan, nor a scream. It’s an actual meow, not too different from that he used to call his comrades when they first met. 

Snake looks up, blinking. 

Ocelot’s flush is glowing crimson, hands pressed against his mouth and eyes full of mortified shame. 

Snake smiles. He reaches up over his stomach, hooking his elbows and gently pulling his arms down, pinning his hands down at his sides. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his point across. 

“Let me hear you,” he growls, and closes his lips around the head of Ocelot’s cock. 

“J-John, fuck, I....” then he yowls, like a cat in heat, as Snake gently sucks on his foreskin. His hands shake under Snake’s. He lets go of his wrists, and Ocelot immediately twines their fingers together, squeezing hard. 

Somehow, that’s a more intimate gesture than having his dick in his mouth, and Snake falters. 

He looks up, and Ocelot is looking down at him, sweat beading on his forehead, sharp cheekbones burning red, mouth slack and pink and wet. 

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly takes him all into his mouth. Ocelot just breathes, short sobbing breaths for every inch that disappears into Snake’s mouth.

Snake has many talents but dick sucking is not really one he’s trained much for, or even at all. He did it because he wanted it but he has no idea how to do it with any finesse or skill. Ocelot doesn’t seem to mind though, melting under him as he blows him rough and sloppy, mewling desperately and squirming and squeezing his fingers so hard their joints creak. 

He comes with a long, hoarse meow, filling Snake’s throat with little to no warning. Snake has eaten worse, much worse. He swallows and laps it all up, sucking the last of it out of him, all the while Ocelot whines softly into the mattress.

“Tasty,” he mutters, licking his lips clean. 

“You’re so gross,” hisses Ocelot, wrapping his bare legs around his waist, not letting him go. 

Snake looks up at him, waiting for a clue as to what to do next. 

Ocelot scoots back to the middle of the bed, pulling Snake up with him with his slender legs. “Fuck me. John.”

Snake swallows. Then hurriedly undoes his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Fuck, yeah. He wants that, wants to be inside Ocelot - Adam - so much. 

Ocelot chuckles, reaching out for his face as he’s struggling to shuck pants and boots without getting off the bed. He thumbs his mouth open.

“Glove,” he says simply. 

Snake kicks his boots and pants off the bed, biting down on the sweaty leather and pulling it off Ocelot’s hand. It so white, so slender and unmarked. 

Two fingers slip into his mouth, tasting like leather with a hint of gunpowder.

“C’mon,” says Ocelot languidly. “I know you can suck.”

Snake sucks eagerly, slobbering over the fingers scissoring around his tongue. Ocelot bites off his other glove, undoes his shirt underneath him, looking at him fondly. 

He can probably tell Snake is a little out of his element, just as Snake can tell he’s done this before. 

Especially when his fingers leave Snake’s mouth and his back arches, pressing them inside of him. 

Snake swallows thickly, watching Ocelot finger himself, stretch himself for him. 

Who has he done this with? His men? Does he lie open and wanton on the floor of the barracks, as his little Ocelots dutifully service their Major?

His gut twists coldly as he realizes there’s a very high chance something happened in Groznyj Grad. After all, Volgin did like pretty boys, and Adam is so pretty. He pets Ocelot’s trembling thighs. It must have hurt, so much.

But it’s clearly not hurting him now, writhing under his gaze and working his fingers inside of him, pale chest flushed pink, tiny nipples standing on attention, spent cock already struggling to harden again, begging with clipped mewls for John to get on with it, take him already, fuck him raw...

Snake grabs his wrists, pulling him out and pinning them over his head as he pushes himself over and into him, one long, precise stroke. 

Ocelot yowls, loud and drawn out and broken, like a cat being mounted by its mate. His legs wrap around Snake’s chest, pulling him closer, deeper, all the way in. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, biting his bottom lip. “Finally.”

Snake sucks that bottom lip out from his teeth, kisses him deeply, letting him taste himself on his tongue. He thrusts, and he’s rewarded by a strangled meow resonating into his throat. 

“Meow for me, kitten,” he growls, leveraging himself over Ocelot’s thin wrists and pushing with all his strength, lifting his ass off the mattress. 

Ocelot is already a goner, whimpering and panting, eyes rolled back into his head, his cock hard again and rubbing into Snake’s stomach with each thrust, sticky and wet. Snake had no idea somebody could get so lost, become so undone. He had no idea _he_ could do this to somebody. 

“John,” he whines breathlessly, English and Russian and meowing melting together into a desperate babble, “John, John, god, yes, harder - give it to me, John - fuck, I’ve wanted this, wanted this since the day I met you, fuck....”

Snake can’t speak. All he can do is grunt and thrust, trying to last even as Adam’s incredible heat is dragging the coiling snake right out of him with every stroke, sweat trailing down his face and raining on Adam’s heated body. 

He grabs Ocelot’s cock roughly just as he feels heat crackle up his spine, jerking him quickly. Two strokes are enough and Ocelot comes with a broken howl, squeezing him so hard Snake throws his head back and comes as well, for what feels like hours. 

They spend a lot of time still joined, trying to catch their breath. Ocelot purrs as he pulls out, come leaking onto the white sheets. 

Like this, spread and covered in come and sweat, pink mouth slick with spit and blue eyes unfocused with ecstasy, Adam is so beautiful Snake doesn’t care if he doesn’t make it to morning. 

***

Ocelot shoots him a glare as he comes out of the bathroom, blonde hair wet and towel around his waist. 

Snake ignores him and takes a very pointed hit off his cigar, staring right into his eyes as he blows out the smoke. 

Ocelot rolls his eyes but a smile is playing on his lips. He sits on the edge of the bed, toweling his hair with his back to Snake. 

Snake leaves the cigar in the ashtray by the bed, and reaches out to runs a fingertip down the gentle scoop of his spine. 

“So,” he says quietly. “Are you gonna kill me tonight?”

Ocelot suddenly stiffens, back ramrod straight, towel slipping off his head and onto the floor. He looks at him over his shoulder.

Snake sighs. “I’m not _that_ stupid, Adam. I know who...what you are.”

Ocelot turns to look at the floor, hands dangling limp in his lap. “Is that why you slept with me?”

The easier thing would be to say yes, and Snake knows it. Break his heart a little and save him the grief. He’s still young, so young. He has still plenty of time to find somebody else to like. 

But Snake doesn’t like lying, especially not when he’s naked and vulnerable. 

“No.”

“Then why?” Ocelot’s shoulders shudder stiffly. Snake cups the back of his neck, tries to turn him around but Ocelot does not comply. 

“Figured....well, that if I was gonna die tonight, I wouldn’t get another chance.”

Ocelot rounds on him faster than Snake can catch him, and all of a sudden he has the cold barrel of a revolver pressed to the soft flesh under his chin. It’s a good spot. One shot, and he’s dead, no pain, no struggle. 

“You’d let me kill you, John?” breathes Ocelot, his eyes steely. “You wouldn’t even fight back?”

He could. He could flip him over, probably, but he’d more than likely lose his other eye or his nose to the gunshot. And that’d be the best case scenario.

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“That’s not like you, John.”

“You know nothing of me, kid.”

Ocelot hisses, teeth flashing. “Don’t call me that!”

Snake holds his gaze. The trigger creaks. Snake swallows. 

Is this how it ends? Wasn’t quite what he was expecting, but it could be worse. Much better than burned into a crisp by a nuclear fallout, or shitting himself inside out in the jungle.

_Click._

It’s empty. The revolver is empty. Snake lets out the breath he’d been holding. 

Ocelot grins like a cat with cream. “Can’t believe you’d let me _kill you_. You’re crazy.”

Snake reaches out to ruffle Ocelot’s short, damp hair. “And you aren’t? I’m not the one with the gun in bed, here.”

The revolver leaves his neck, rested gently on the side table. 

“Guess we’re both crazy, then,” chuckles Ocelot. “And just for your information, I’m not here to kill you.”

“You’re...not?”

He rolls his eyes lying down next to him, long and languid like a sunning cat. “I’m not. I have to meet with some guys. Boring business stuff, some spying, the usual. I’ve been coming over for weeks now. I had no idea you’d be here this time.”

Snake rolls on his side, brushing calloused fingers over the smooth curve of his hip. He smiles, feeling tired and weirdly contented in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Certainly not after...that. “Just my luck, then.”

Ocelot takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He’s smiling too, even if his eyebrows are furrowing. “How long can you stay?”

Snake’s hand slumps over his hip. He glances out the window, at the sky that’s already tinging with gray and pale. “I should already be on my way, actually.”

Ocelot pouts. 

Snake sits up with a grunt, slipping off the bed and looking for his pants. “We’ll see each other again, I’m sure.”

Ocelot smiles, stretching into the space left empty with a hum. “I did tell you when we met, didn’t I?”

Snake tilts his head at him. 

“Ocelots never lets their prey escape.” He licks his lips. “Till we meet again, John.”

This time Snake is the one making the unceremonious exit, but he’s smiling just like last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Look I just wanted to write Ocelot meowing while getting railed, ok


End file.
